


The meaning of family

by Ceciliedr



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Batbrothers (DCU), Blood and Violence, Brothers, Damian Wayne is Robin, Family, Jason Todd is Red Hood, POV Outsider, Protective Jason Todd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26034346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceciliedr/pseuds/Ceciliedr
Summary: “I asked.” Hood’s voice has a calmness to it that frightens her. It’s calm in that same way the world gets before a storm is unleashed. Like the crater of a slumbering volcano, right before everything erupts in fire, smoke, and death. “What makes you think the baby bat is dead?”
Relationships: Jason Todd & Damian Wayne
Comments: 2
Kudos: 228





	The meaning of family

**Author's Note:**

> I literally had the idea for this one-shot a few hours ago, then proceeded to write the entire thing in one go. That never happens :-)

Dea smothers a yawn with the back of a gloved hand. Cursing their new supplier under her breath. She has a date with the warm bed at home and these incompetent assholes were making her late.

She wasen’t the only one losing their patience. All around her people were starting to fidget. Whispered conversations filling the eerie silence of the warehouse. Only Hood seems immune. Standing against a pillar, most of his form clad in shadows. An ominous present that keeps voices hushed and anyone from complaining outright. He hasn’t moved a muscle in the last hour. But Dea has worked with him a few times before. If the others didn’t get here soon there would be hell to pay.

Finally, the truck arrives. But it is immediately clear something is wrong. Only one car accompanies it. When the truck driver all but falls out of it, head whipping around frantically and eyes blow wide. Dea does like most of the crew, drawing her gun with a muttered curse.

“What the hell happened?” Hood’s voice fills the night. Coursing the driver to flinch and cover his head. A man emerges from the black SUV, leaning casually against the hood of it.

“Relax fellas, we had a little problem while on route, but we handled it.”

“What kind of problem?” Hood’s voice modulator does little to hide the dangerous edge to his voice. Hands hovering over his thigh holsters.

“We encountered a little bird, but as I said, we took care of it.”

“You lead Robin here.” Hood growls. Dea finds herself scanning the nearby rooftops, tensing in preparation for someone to attack them from the shadows.

“Aren’t you hearing me?” The man drawls impatiently. “We already took care of him.”

“You are an idiot if you think you can shake the demon brat that easily.”

The man lets out an annoyed huff, crossing his arms over his chest. Teeth showing in a humorless grin. “Are you a moron? We killed the little shit.”

Dea feels like someone dumped a tub of ice water over her head. Cold to the bone, waiting for the shock to fade and the world to make sense again. Because this couldn’t be real. Robin was a brat of epic proportions, the bane of the Gotham underworld, and a general thorn in everyone’s sides. But he was still a kid. 

A snarky little demon child that left a trail of blood and broken bones in his wake. Fighting tooth and nails to make this rotten city just a little bit better. To make the streets that tiny bit safer for everyone.

It didn’t matter that he made her life that much harder. That her only personal experience with him and the bat left her with a broken arm and one hell of a hospital bill. 

Robin was still a goddamn child.

A shot and a scream in quick succession. Most of the gang is scrambling to get as far away as possible as their supplier crumbles to the pavement with another scream of agony.

Dea stands rooted to the spot, watching the blood gush from the scrambled piece of flesh and bone that used to be his knee. People are fleeing the scene around her as Hood advances on the man with the fluentness of a predator showing in every step.

“You did what to Robin?” The cold steel of Hood’s voice has shivers running down her spine. 

The man’s only answer is more screaming, tears, and snot running down his face. Clutching the remains of his knee with both hands.

“I asked.” Hood’s voice has a calmness to it that frightens her. It’s calm in that same way the world gets before a storm is unleashed. Like the crater of a slumbering volcano, right before everything erupts in fire, smoke, and death. “What makes you think the baby bat is dead?”

When yet again he’s only met with screaming, Hood doesn’t even hesitate to plant a combat boot on the wound. Pressing down with all his weight, filling the night air with a new series of bone-chilling screams. Only interrupted by the sound of gun-fire, as Hood plants a single bullet in the man’s foot.

“Let’s try again before I lose my patience. What the hell did you do to Robin?”

The screams die down to a series of sobs and never-ending whimpers. The man looking around him desperately. Finding Dea’s eyes, since she is the only one dumb enough to stay here. His dark eyes are begging her to help, to do something, anything to save him. Dea still doesn’t move a muscle.

Hood pins his right hand to the pavement with his other foot, putting a bullet through it almost casually. “Last chance asshole.”

“He- he attacked the tr-truck.”

“Not what I asked dipshit.” Another bullet is fired, this time cutting through his other knee. Dea feels nausea built in her throat, the coppery scent of blood heavy in the air. His screams rattling around in her skull as much as against the facades of the nearby warehouses.

“He jumped- jumped unto one of the c-cars,” He trails off with a wail. Clawing at Hood’s boot. Nails breaking against the leather. Leaving streaks of red glistening in the low light of the nearby streetlight.

“What. did. you. do?” Every word is punctured with a stump onto his knee. The sounds the supplier makes doesn’t even sound human anymore. Dea knows this moment will haunt her nightmares for years.

“Went in the car. I had- had a rocket-launcher.” The breaths are rattling in his throat, each one sounding more pained than the last. “Nobody could sur- survive that.”

The night seems to hold its breath, or maybe it’s just Dea. The suppliers pained breath and gasps the only noise. Hood straightens up, seeming to shake some of the tension out of his shoulders.

“You better pray to every last god out there that you’re wrong. Because if the kid didn’t make it, neither will you. And I will make this seem like a paper cut in comparison.”

Stumping down on his knee on last time, Hood quickly turns his attention towards Dea. Who drops her gun without a second thought, holding her hands up as she instinctively takes several steps back.

“I so nothing. I know nothing.” Dea manages to force the words past the lump in her throat. Her skin prickling and clammy with fear. 

Hood gives her a short nod before taking off down the street. Hand going to the side of his helmet. Saying something that is lost to the wind. 

Dea looks at the supplier. Laying in a slowly growing pool of his own blood. Inhuman noises of pain escaping him every few seconds. She should probably call an ambulance. Then again, somebody must have called the gunshots in by now. She should get out of here before she ends up arrested. And if she is wrong… Then she’s wrong.

Dea turns on her heal, grapping her gun and marching away without looking back. Her bed is calling louder than ever, despite the knowledge she won’t be able to sleep tonight. She probably won’t be able to do it without nightmares for a while. Maybe it’s time to give life on the straight and narrow another try.


End file.
